A lot of you seemed to enjoy the post from Iona … you know, the one that was all poetic and poignant.
This post is not like that one.
Here’s the set up. I should have known it was too good to be true.
Act 1. Brandy, my fairy godmother, comes by my house one evening bearing a L’Wren Scott for Banana Republic black beaded cocktail dress that she says I CAN HAVE. I try it on and it fits perfectly. I never have any occasion to wear such a dress but I like knowing it’s in my wardrobe just in case such an event appears on the horizon …
Act 2. I go out on a date with a magician (technically, he’s a mesmerist. He also does palm reading and séances. No, he doesn’t believe in any of it.). It’s fun. He reads my palm. He promises a floating table illusion on the third date. He asks me on a second date to the Magic Castle, the clubhouse for the Academy of Magical Arts. He sends me the dress code, which is totally insane and not a bit sexist. But I love it! Because it says, and I quote, “Women must be in a dress, cocktail dress, elegant skirt & blouse combination, pant suit with a matching jacket (think business suit), or evening pant suit ensemble.”
It’s too perfect! I was just days earlier bequeathed a cocktail dress, and, lo, I now have a social engagement that requires I wear a cocktail dress.
Act 3. I am super excited. I watch an online tutorial about how Alexa Chung does her eye makeup, because I decide that a Chung-style-sixties-winged-eyeliner look will perfectly complement the dress and be oh-so-magic-castle. 
Act 4. The day approaches. The magician hasn’t confirmed what time we’re meeting; but perhaps he has communicated it to me by ESP and it hasn’t come through yet? Yes, that must be it. Be patient, duck-rabbit.
Act 5. It’s the day we’re supposed to meet. I still haven’t heard from him. I decide the ESP isn’t working and that we must resort to ordinary twenty-first-century communication technology. I text him cautiously … is everything OK?
He replies, “We are in totally different places right now.”
I am confused. Sure we are! You live in Santa Barbara and I live in Santa Monica! But that’s OK! Because: teleportation, right?
Also, as a back-up: Uber!
It turns out, dear readers, that he was speaking metaphorically. What “we are in totally different places right now” actually meant was, “you shall NOT go to the Magic Castle, duck-rabbit.”
I am crestfallen.
But I quickly cheer myself up by thinking of silly one-liners that sum up the indignity of being unceremoniously dumped by a magician. For example:
- He was an escape artist!
- It was a vanishing act!
- He saw the writing on the wall!
You get the idea …
And I’ll bet that you can do better, dear readers ….
P.S. One for the dix-huitièmistes: next week I am going out with a guy whose name is Wieland. For real. Should I be afraid? What if he spontaneously combusts?
 Even if you don’t have the least interest in how to achieve a winged eyeliner effect, you should really watch this just so you can gawk at Alexa’s beauty, which is truly mesmerizing.
2 thoughts on “Day 90: Please provide your own punchline”
I’m not an 18th centuryist, but I’m an Americanist and I get the Wieland joke. Dude, that magician was a total dick. I refer you to: https://youtu.be/Fr8HKRTavM0 (they’re not dicks, but they’re super funny about dicks)
Ha! Yes, I love that song, I’ve heard it before! And, you’re right, I should have said “for the Americanists” too; although I’d argue that Americanists are always kind of 18th centuryists by default as WELL as Americanists. Sadly, the reverse cannot be said of 18th centuryists.